NVM Review

By Warren Rojas

Having reared almost an entire generation on their traditional Southern Italian cooking, Espositos co-owner/general manager Maria Esposito says she and brother Pasquale (he’s the head chef) are setting their sights on the next wave of potential patrons.

“Those are my future customers,” she says of the smiling faces that peer back at her from the burgeoning collage of customers’ kids’ snapshots that has claimed nearly an entire wall of the venerable Fairfax restaurant.

Esposito says she and her brother have helmed nearly a half dozen local dining projects over the past few decades—including what she claims was the first, genuine wood-burning pizza oven operation in Arlington—but the pair has remained firmly planted at their current location since 1982.

“Our father taught us the business,” she says of her introduction to the hospitality trade, getting her first taste of the restaurant world by working at her father’s restaurant on Route 1 in Alexandria.

Over the years, various family members spent time filling orders in Fairfax—“It used to be a big family, all of us here,” she says of their heyday—but many have since moved on (father retired and returned to Naples, Italy; another sibling walked away from pizza-making to pursue alternate business interests). Other servers have stayed on for over 20 years.

“The staff never moves in the front,” she says of the diehard loyalists who have become Esposito’s extended work family.

Likewise, Esposito says she sees many of the same faces from restaurants past—perhaps slightly more filled out and occasionally a tad more wrinkled—filling the seats to this day.

“I still have people coming from Wilson Boulevard,” she says of the devoted patrons who have added their own family and friends to the growing choir of supporters. “I like my customers … They’re wonderful people.”

The affection is clearly mutual.

On any given night, families fan out across the red-checked tablecloth-clad tables, ordering multiple pasta dishes and then passing them from person to person so everybody gets a little taste of this or that.

Children are not just tolerated, but welcomed with open arms. When one playful tot turned his plate of spaghetti into a work of conceptual art, a server begged the obviously flustered parents away from dropping to their knees to tidy up. “We’re not that busy. Someone can clean that up,” he assured them, citing his own travails of dining out with young charges.

During another visit, a chef emerged from the kitchen to quiz one picky youngster as to what type of sauces, noodles—miming out the approximate lengths with his fingers (“you want a short noodle,” he illustrated by pinching his fingers together, “or a looooooong noodle,” he teased while spreading his arms wide)—and ingredients (“You like mushrooms? What about carrots?”) he wanted for dinner.

“I made it special for you,” the chef announced as he paraded out the made-to-order creation to the wide-eyed youngster.

And while no chef ever popped by to solicit custom orders during our visits, many of the dishes we encountered seemed plenty special enough.

A mouthwatering mozzarella in carroza summons twin loaves of bread crumbs- and oregano-caked baked cheese lain to rest in a pool of garlic- and parmesan-speckled oil.

“I like it better with tomato sauce,” one companion shared, referring to the marinara-doused version favored by other establishments. I found the garlic bath much more seductive and was absolutely delighted by an accompanying anchovy filet (tiny fish, big flavor).

No such arguments about the spaghetti carbonara, a dish everyone agreed was a surefire winner. The wiggly noodles were coated in a luxurious eggy-parmesan sheen (the yolk-cheese mixture clinging to every strand) and bolstered by diced onions and curls of divinely fried bacon (browned but pliant, allowing its rich fattiness to invade every bite).

Twin chicken breasts prepared with white wine, lemon and fresh rosemary seemed somewhat oily, but were salvaged by sides of sauteed white mushrooms (hearty, savory fare) and plain spaghetti (help sop up the chicken runoff).

A generous helping (portion is plenty for one, appetizing for two) of lasagna seemed odd at first—the outer rim tasted vaguely compartmentalized, like a time-release noodle mold designed specifically to contain the meat and cheese mixture until two seconds after you pierce it with a utensil—but eventually won me over with its triple threat of seasoned ground beef, molten ricotta and baked-till-golden mozzarella crust.

The one truly dull spot was the lifeless salsiccia Contadina, which married pallid-looking sausage links (look like plain German franks, taste like pork-lite) with a wholesome marinara littered with diced peppers and onions (all the traditional components are there, but the anticipated whole never came together for me).

Looking forward, Esposito says she’s got some updates in mind. And with a new lease in hand and a rising tide of regulars at their back, the plan appears to be to remain as connected to the community as possible.

“We just want to grow and get old with our customers,” she says.